


dawn

by sukkerspinn



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/F, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:54:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28181985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sukkerspinn/pseuds/sukkerspinn
Summary: they fell in love(they always do)
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	dawn

**Author's Note:**

> if i could post this on tumblr i would, but i dont mess w that. 
> 
> if you ask me what this is, i can't answer, but i couldn't go to bed before i typed it out of my head. short n sweet<3

_Soft sunlight shines through an open window, hitting blonde hair and making it glow, a raspy voice coloured by morning whispers “Hi”-_

“I’m Emma”

Instant hatred. Here she comes, the one she has dreaded without even knowing, and the feelings rushes in, thoughts spelling out ‘I hate her’, chest heaving ‘I fear her’, heart screaming ‘I’ll lose him’. A plan must be made. There’s no going back now

_A hand travels towards her, soft fingertips meet her cheek -_

— and she gets grabbed, hard, but the hand is soft. She supposes the heathen does moisturize, which is a silly thought to have while she looks at you like she wants to throw you through a wall.

“You took everything from me,”

A voice like fire, like rage, but she was forged in fire as well and answers with gasoline, ablaze

“And I enjoyed every minute of it”

Hearts are racing and the red almost spills over, locked in an endless battle with the proverbial sword against the throat, only its words this time, to spare the only thing they both care about.

“He’s my son”

“He’s ours”

But he’s not hers and she hates it because he is in every way that matters, but he choose her, the white and bright. He always will and she doesn’t know how to stop that, so the red continues.

_\- and strokes her softly, the touch leaving a faint trail she feels in her bones, before traveling to her hair, brushing it -_

— behind her ear. “Don’t you dare!”

Desperate hands continue to remove dirty, soaked water from her face, revealing pale, clammy skin, tired eyes. So, so tired, but at least he’s safe now.

“If you don’t fucking get up right now I swear I will kick you into another realm and you can stay there”

What a peasant try for humour. She doesn’t laugh at all.

“He needs you. He still needs you”

A tear roll down her check. She feels warm and wet. He doesn’t.

“Our son needs you”

She inhales, gasps for air. No one needs her now. But maybe one day.

“That’s it. Come back to us. Come back to me. I can’t do this alone”

She stares, with disbelieving eyes. But she exhales and breathes again. And again. And again.

_Blue eyes stare at her, glowing and matching the morning light that surrounds them, crinkling at the edges, a small -_

— smile directed to her, and only her.

“Come on, everyone’s waiting”

She tilts her head.

“Everyone?” she asks, never having had an everyone.

“Yeah, you know. The family”

And she shudders a bit because she knows what is meant but their definition differs. Emma’s family is not hers, never will be. Henry is her family. Emma is - Emma is something. Another mother. They are something broken, together. A broken family, perhaps, but nothing more, nothing less. Still, she comes. Steps towards instead of back. Demands more courage that she has, but she finds it. Barely.

_Pale pink lips come towards her, laying fluttering kisses on her nose, her eyes, her mouth, her -_

— neck is attacked, fiercely and without inhibition, and she gasps and tilts her head back. They’re both hungry, both pulling and pushing with equal fervor, trying to gain the upper hand like always. They’re both red but different now, they have been for a while. Deep gazes, hovering hands and lingering looks. And now finally, release, a cascade of touch, of feelings, of not giving a fuck. She catches the lips ravaging her with her own, shoving all these weeks, months, years into it. It feels inevitable

_The hand in her hair is loosening, pulls back –_

— from her own hand and starts gesturing up and down and she sighs and sees an ending where she didn’t want one but knew she would get eventually. People like her don’t get handed out happy, not unless they secure it themselves by curses and hard work.

“But don’t you see, Regina? We have worked for it. We’ve worked so hard. This isn’t a hand-out. Its us. I can work, but not alone. So what do you want? Tell me”

_\- and settles on her hips, dragging her close. She closes her eyes and breathes, while strong arms -_

— envelops her, holding her tight while she cries, while she talks, while she rages. Strong arms creating a space to breath, to feel, safe? Anchoring her. Making her able to work. And by god does she work for this, for years and years of red and black and ugly yellow being stripped and removed, for creating a new palette that now colours her life in a far brighter light. So she talks and works and cries and works and she’s not alone, not anymore, and she revels in that and works even harder. She’s never been a quitter, not really. She’s only getting started, and there’s no going back now.

_Her lips break into a smile. “I –“_

— love you”, they say.

A small smattering of applause is heard, a little whoop from their son being the loudest noise. It’s only them and their very closest, gathering in the backyard of their house, the sun filtering through the apple tree they’re beneath, making the white silk band surrounding their hands glisten. They both wanted it small, private, quiet, the former big city girl, the former queen, so different form anything else in their life. A dress in chiffon, a linen suit, streamers from the tree and a bouquet from the garden. They’re not calling it a wedding. Sparkling apple cider is enjoyed while stories are told, no speeches, no fuss. Simple, for once, and when she looks at her now, there’s no burning colours, only gold, liquid and slow.

_She takes those words and moves them through her body, so they’re felt everywhere, before she hides them in her heart, her own personal vault filled with what she needs, which she now has. Partly within her arms, partly in the bed down the hall, where he’ll probably be until well past noon. But it’s the weekend and she doesn’t care._

_“Good morning, Emma” she says, returning the kiss, a warm breeze caressing her face._

_And she doesn’t dread now, not anymore. Doesn’t fear. Her heart whispers, “We made this” and every morning, she lives._


End file.
